STORM SERIES: At 3:30 am (working title)
by G.K.Sidhu
Summary: What would you do if you remembered your past life? Evan Storm wakes up every morning terrorized by the memories of who he was and what he did in his past life. When he meets Shadow Hex, his new neighbor, it's more than a coincidence that she was his wife from his previous life. Everyone's lives change the moment Evan takes interest in Shadow.
1. Chapter 1

**The New Beginning**

G. K. Sidhu

Copyright © 2015 by G. K. Sidhu

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Publisher's note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

Edited, formatted, and interior design by Kristen Corrects, Inc.

First edition published 2015

 **Chapter 1**

Their fairytale all started with one look.

Derek Will fell in love with Samantha Moore. Everyone envied their love story. He was the perfect gentleman and she was the beauty with class.

Six months after dating, Derek proposed on one knee with a 5.36 carat yellow cushion cut micropavé halo diamond. It was stunning to the eyes and left Samantha in awe. But that was far from important.

After the honeymoon phase ended, things started to settle in—and that's when Samantha realized who Derek really was.

The night took a sickening twist in the home of Derek and Samantha Will.

Derek came home, aggravated about something unclear to Samantha. It's not like Derek came home, had dinner, sat down, and exchanged the traditional preliminaries—he had changed slowly after marriage. There were no more late-night conversations, handholding, or even the conventional husband-wife types of things. Derek expected Samantha to clean, cook, and keep the house well-maintained without any kind of help. It was unusual to find a housewife who lived in Pool View _not_ to have a maid. With the kind of money Derek brought home, there was no question as to why they couldn't afford a maid, a butler, and a gardener. Derek's intentions were to keep Samantha locked in the house as long as he could and it was exactly how it panned out. He went to work and was successful at his job, while Samantha stayed at home and made sure the house was tidy and in order before Derek came home. But today, it wasn't the diurnal routine Samantha was prepared for.

Samantha had been throwing up all morning, so as like any other human being, she rested. Samantha slept all through the afternoon, only waking up half an hour before Derek's arrival. She started on dinner, hoping Derek wouldn't arrive earlier than usual, but it seemed that the universe was not on her side. Derek arrived home, pissed about something—it had to be something work related she figured, but it wasn't Samantha's place to ask. According to Derek, it was none of her business.

Derek walked into the kitchen only to find dinner wasn't set on the kitchen table like it had been every day for the past five years. Automatically, Derek jumped to the assumption Samantha was out in the city having a good time, or having an affair. He glared at Samantha, not looking for an explanation. Even if she attempted to explain herself, he wouldn't believe her. Instead he'd believe whatever he made up in his mind because that was what _he_ believed to be true.

The silence frightened Samantha. She had no idea what to expect.

Derek took the pot of boiling pasta and watched the water drain in the sink, only to throw the pasta all over the kitchen floor. Samantha backed away slowly, not wanting him anywhere near her. The farther she was, the better. But where could she possibly go? She watched his every move, like a hawk. Her heartbeat rang in her ears.

He stood still for a moment, looking around. Shadow eyed the knife that lay on the counter, which she had been using to cut the lettuce. She sensed Derek knew what she was thinking. His eyes followed hers, but then once again Samantha quickly became his center of attention. He inched forward, looking at Samantha directly in the eye. She saw the anger, rage, and frustration in his eyes and knew in her gut he was going to take it out on her. But it was just a matter of how.

"I thought I made it clear. Dinner should have been on the table by the time I walked in through that door," he howled. His voice only rose from this point on. "You take me as an idiot, don't you?"

Samantha shook her head.

"I work my ass off every single day to make a life for us," he continued. "All I ask from you is to clean this house, and put food on the damn table! But you can't even manage to do that, can you?!"

The corner of his mouth lifted as he unbuckled his belt and admired the thickness of it.

Samantha moved but not quickly enough. She knew all of it would be over sooner if she just took the beating. If she tried to escape, it would only anger him more. Derek came at her and whipped her across the back and then across her chest.

Samantha's loud crying pleas didn't stop Derek. He continued to slash her with his belt until he felt satisfied, but the beating didn't end there either. He gripped his hands tight around her neck until her face turned pale, then shoved her to the ground. A mischievous grin crept up on his face as he stared at Samantha struggling. She lay there coughing; uttering the words "I'm sorry." But Derek didn't care if she was sorry or if she was sick. He was going to make her miserable until she bled.

Derek continued to whip Samantha across her back, only to turn her over and continue the lashing across her chest and stomach. Her cries became louder. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the kitchen, into the living room where he continued to severely lash Samantha on the face. She covered her face in agony. He forced her hands away from her face, then slapped her once, twice then a third time before he brought the brutal beating to an end. He stood bearing over her as she lay on the floor.

Samantha's eyes, red, began to swell. By the end of the night, her eyes would be swollen shut. Her lips were cracked. Her pearly white teeth were covered in blood. Her back and chest ached in torment. She could see the blood on the white carpet, through her blurry vision. Her mind began to slowly shut down.

Derek turned her face over with his foot so he could see the pain in her eyes. He looked at her and shook his head in disgust.

His voice was calmer now."None of this would've happened if you made dinner. When will you learn?" He scoffed. "I'm tired, so don't waste your time in the kitchen…but I do want this mess cleaned up before you go to bed," he said, fanning his index finger over the blood on the carpet. "This all better be spotless by the time I wake up tomorrow morning, do you understand?"

Samantha gave no response. She merely couldn't. It hurt to move her lips, and had no energy to speak.

"I didn't hear you. What did you say?" he said, expecting a response he knew he wasn't going to get, but he was going to force it out of her anyway. "I can't hear you, Samantha. It's not that hard to say yes."

Samantha used all her strength to nod, agreeing to do what he asked her.

"I need to _hear_ you say it. Say the word, Samantha. I know you can do it. I need a verbal agreement." He crouched near her.

She could hear Derek breathing over her. Again, with all her strength she had left in her, through her swollen and bleeding lips, between sobs, Samantha uttered the word "Yes."

Satisfied, Derek went upstairs, leaving Samantha on the living room floor.

There was really nothing she could do. She had no money. She didn't have a way of making her own living. Derek, the clever man he was, gave her the option of leaving. But where would she go? To her family? She was too ashamed to ask them to take her in, when they warned her for marrying Derek in the first place. Did she listen? No. She dropped out of college and gave up everything to be with this man and…now he'd taken her life. It came as a shock to Samantha that after all this, he still continued to let her breathe. Why not end her life instead?

And then…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Evan Storm woke up panting and sweaty. He looked around and realized where he was. He was in his home in Lake View. He was sitting up in his bed, his hair and back drenched in sweat. He reached for his miniature towel he'd set on the nightstand the night before. He glanced over at his alarm clock. It was 3:30 in the morning. This memory of his past life had been haunting him for months and every night he woke up at the same time terrorized. He wiped his face, trying to remember everything he could. Evan had questions that no one could answer. Why was he remembering his past? What was the meaning behind all of this? Why was this happening to him? And why all of the sudden?

Evan crawled out of bed, steadily walking over to the bathroom. He flipped the switch as he stepped on to the warm tiles. Even though it didn't snow in Lake View, winters had become more cold in the recent years, but bearable. Thankfully, Evan had renovated the floors of the house, having heated floors installed. "The beauty of technology makes life a lot simpler," he said to the installer. He stood with his hands resting on both sides of the sink, looking into the mirror before him. He looked a lot like Derek Will. His blue eyes twinkled as he raised his chin upward. Evan traced his finger across his jawline, feeling the growing fuzz. He judged himself for having a baby face. People always overlooked a man who had a baby face, which Evan disliked. He wanted to look intimidating. It gave a reason for the wrong people to stay away.

At this point, Evan didn't know much about himself in his previous life. Whether or not he had children, he wasn't sure. There were a lot of things that were unclear. However, he was aware of how cruel Derek was to Samantha. It made Evan's body cringe as the image of Samantha laying on the floor, bloody, crept up on him.

He turned the faucet, letting the cold water run for a moment, wondering how inhumane a person could be. He took another look at himself before splashing his face with the water. As Evan raised his head, he looked into the mirror and behind him stood Derek, with a grim face and a smile that made the tiny hairs on his back stand up. Evan felt his soul slowly slip away from his body for a moment before jumping back into his body. Time stood still. The only thing that Evan could hear was his loud thumping heartbeat.

"He's not real," he repeated to himself, "he's _not_ real. _You're…not…real!"_ Evan grasped the sink with both hands and shut his eyes. His body shivered with terror. Evan knew this was imaginary but seeing Derek made him feel like death was waiting to take him. He let out a grunt in agony. He felt his soul was being grasped by Derek's presence. He took a deep breath and counted to three. When he opened his eyes, Derek was gone. "It's just your mind playing tricks," he told himself after gaining composure.

Very rarely Evan would see Derek after he'd wake up from the night terrors. The first time he'd seen Derek was during the first week the nightmares began. Evan punched the bathroom mirror out of horror and shock. Evan was still trying to figure out why Derek would appear out of the blue. What role did Derek play in his life with the current situation he was dealing with? Evan knew Derek's appearances served some type of purpose but couldn't pin the exact reason just yet.

He wiped his face down with the bathroom towel that hung behind him next to the shower.

On his way out, Evan switched off the light, and slowly got under the covers. The bed sheet was a little damp from his sweat, but he'd gotten used to it.

Evan lay in the dark as the moon shined throughout his room, making the painting on the wall visible. Evan studied the painting, remembering how he had purchased it. It brought some sense of peace when he couldn't fall back asleep.

The painting, called _The Twister_ , was a mixture of bold colors, swirled together, just like a whirlpool. It was created by a local artist in Pool View—it was the first painting that caught Evan's eye when he stepped into the art gallery, on the day of its grand opening a year ago. It was the same day he met Harmony. Evan remembered thinking that there was certainly no one as beautiful as she was. After standing and stalling for fifteen minutes, he finally worked up the courage to ask Harmony out on a date.

It had been two months since Harmony broke up with Evan. All of Harmony's belongings had been moved out and the painting was the only reminder of Harmony that was left in the house, along with the memories they created together.

When his mind wandered back to Samantha, Evan mentally replayed what he remembered from his dream. This helped him remember the memory more vividly in the morning so he could write it down in the journal he kept.

At the crack of dawn, Evan went downstairs, and made himself a hot cup of espresso. It was the right way to start off the day, at least in Evan's book it was. It was a peaceful sunny Saturday. He went about pouring in a small amount of milk and sugar, stirring it around with a spoon, and tossing the spoon into the sink afterward.

Evan sat at the kitchen table in his pajamas with his journal and pen sitting in front of him—replaying the entire dream in his mind.

He picked up his pen and began to write.

 _December 12_ _th_ _, 2015,_

 _Woke up at 3:30 again, remembering Samantha throwing up. She laid there on the bathroom floor, with her hand over her stomach. Derek beat her with his belt over and over because dinner wasn't ready. It all started from the kitchen and then the beating moved to the living room. He hit her in the face. She was crying and kept asking him to stop but wouldn't. After I washed my face, I looked in the mirror and saw Derek standing behind me. It made me cringe. It's been two weeks since the last time I saw him._

He put the pen down beside his journal, starring at the words that quickly dried on the paper. Evan ran his fingers through his short chestnut brown hair, trying to make sense of the memory he was haunted by. There had to be a reason for Evan to remember his past life, but whether Evan's past life had anything to do with him now, he was unsure. He took a sip of his coffee as his eyes lingered over the other entries.

The creak in the hallway disrupted Evan in his thoughts. He turned over into the living room to see his grandma, Venice Storm, looking over the coffee table. She was a tiny old woman, with the softest voice that coincidently matched her kind soul. She almost looked like Mrs. Clause, with her rosy cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes and her face almost wrinkle free. Her glowing skin truly disguised her age well. She was a year shy from turning eighty, but didn't look a day over sixty. Evan gradually walked into the living room with his coffee mug in one hand.

"Darling, what happened here last night?" Grandma Venice asked, looking over at Evan, even though she already knew.

She was a psychic.

Evan looked at the mess he had left on the coffee table last night before heading to bed. Since it was winter vacation, his teaching duties as a psychology teacher at Walsh Pierce High School were currently on hold. Evan, partially drunk, had unloaded a box of old family photos all over the table to put in to a family album. But instead, his productive evening ended up with reminiscing about all the things that had gone awry.

"The goal was to get all these pictures in to an album," Evan said, pushing the photos toward the middle of the table, making room for his mug.

"Yeah, I can see that, darling," she said, scanning the table.

He picked up a photo with his parents and his sister, Denise, at the beach. Evan was four years old and vividly remembered chasing Denise around with a dead crab. It was the last photo taken before his parents' death.

"Unfortunately that didn't happen," he said, setting the picture back on the coffee table with the rest.

"Put these pictures back in the box," Grandma Venice ordered. "I don't want you spilling coffee all over them. I'm not even sure if I have the negatives for these pictures."

"I'm sure Dad put them somewhere." Evan paused, wondering what Grandma Venice was doing here on a Saturday morning. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I had thirty minutes to spare, so I thought, why don't I go visit my little darling and see what he's been up to lately?"

Grandma Venice worked as a therapist in her private clinic located in the central business district where she used her psychic abilities to her advantage. She hid the fact she was able to predict what was going to happen in the future from her patients for many reasons.

Many years ago, when she tried to prevent her husband's death, Grandpa Dean, she learned what the consequences were for trying to change his fate. The universe was not too pleased with Grandma Venice trying to prevent what was meant to happen. The only way Grandma Venice _could_ use her psychic abilities were to answer questions, favorably yes and no questions. It kept her out of trouble from the universe, since there was a _very_ thin line that was easy to cross.

Grandma Venice's soft bouncy grey hair brushed against his cheek as she planted a kiss on his forehead. She headed into the kitchen with her purse hanging off of one shoulder.

"There's coffee if you want some," Evan said, carefully stacking up the photos in a pile and putting them back in the box. "It was nice of you to drop by," he said, as he put the lid back on the box. "Unannounced," he added.

Ignoring his last comment, she replied, "I think I'll just have orange juice."

Grandma Venice retrieved the orange juice from the refrigerator. She poured herself a full glass before putting the carton back in the refrigerator. Grandma Venice sat at the kitchen table with her fingers wrapped around her glass. She noticed the ungraded papers in his office. Before she could make a comment, Evan walked into the kitchen with his coffee mug up to his chin, about to take a sip. He noticed her eyes fixated at his office, eyeing the stack of papers he was supposed to have graded.

"I know what you're going to say," he said, pulling out the chair in front of her and taking a seat.

"I wasn't going to say anything," she said as her eyes flicked away. "You're still in your pajamas," Grandma Venice pointed out. "What's going on, darling?"

Evan looked genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

It was a Saturday and being in pajamas was comfy.

"You're not the kind of person who leaves things unfinished," she said, subtly eyeing the stack of papers. "You haven't been the same ever since you started remembering your past life, and I know this breakup wasn't easy either."

Evan wasn't much the feelings kind of guy. He wasn't comfortable talking about a situation unless he felt the _need_ to. With Grandma Venice being a professional therapist, Evan never felt comfortable letting her in, but somehow she always managed to lure Evan in and just as he started to express his thoughts, coincidentally she had to be "somewhere" or was "going to be late for a session with a patient." It was almost as if she wanted him to explore his feelings on his own and the only way to achieve that goal was by her poking her way in.

He analyzed his blue mug all around, finding it to be flawless. "So much has happened in the last couple of months. I'm trying to figure out where to go from here."

She nodded. "I know it's hard when people walk out of your life. I understand that, but you can't keep moping around here and feeling sorry for yourself."

"I'm not doing that," quickly answering for Grandma Venice. His eyes met hers for a moment before they traveled back to his mug. "I've been doing some productive research," he added.

"Oh darlin', are you still trying to figure out what your past life memories mean?"

"In Sikhism, they believe that you're reincarnated over and over because of your previous life's wrongdoings. Reincarnation ends when you live a rightful life and that's when you get to become one with God."

"Will you stop with that nonsense? You're not even a Sikh!"

Evan nodded. "True. But it's one reasonable explanation. There are some people out there who remember their past life but it's just something they remember. Unlike them, I'm taunted by these memories, over and over. It's not normal Grandma. There's a meaning behind it."

"You're being ridiculous. You're wasting your time with this Evan. I know you don't like to hear it but I have to be honest here."

"Let me ask you this then. Why is it that when I wake up, I feel like I've done something wrong? I feel guilty for something I did in another life time, another place. That feeling lingers throughout the day." He looked at her sternly. "Something's telling me that there's a bigger picture here. I'm not gonna stop until I figure it out."

Grandma Venice sighed, not knowing what else she could say or do that would convince Evan to give up chasing a memory that meant nothing. To Grandma Venice, Evan was chasing a ghost. She wasn't sure how long it would be before Evan realized he was wasting his time and put it all behind him .

As long as he was on winter vacation, he had every minute to spend analyzing, researching about this phenomenon that he couldn't explain.

"Have you met your next-door neighbor yet? It's been a while since they moved in, haven't they?" Grandma Venice asked, changing the touchy subject.

"No," he said pausing for a moment, wondering how long it had been since the house was sold. "I've seen their car parked out in front when I go for a run, but that's about it."

"Aren't you having brunch with Denise tonight?" she asked, taking another sip.

"Yeah. She's going to the hospital afterward to see Ryan. So, I'll be babysitting Nate."

There was dead silence in the room. Grandma Venice never discussed what happened the night Ryan was sent to the hospital. In the past, when Evan or Denise asked whether or not Ryan would make it through, or why Grandma Venice never warned Denise, she would change the subject. Neither of them knew whether or not Grandma Venice hiding Ryan's accident was a good or bad thing.

"How is she?" she said, taking a deep breath.

Evan broke eye contact. "Not much has changed, Grandma."

"She's not still upset with me, is she? I want to give her some space but she needs to understand I was doing the right thing. I'm always trying to protect this family and..."

"I know, Grandma but that's not how Denise sees it. It's going to take her some time to come around. Give it some time."

Grandma Venice let out an anxious sigh. Denise had been short with Grandma Venice ever since Ryan's accident and it pained Grandma Venice to know that Denise indirectly blamed her for Ryan's accident.

He retrieved Grandma Venice's glass once she was finished and placed it in the sink. He looked out the kitchen window and saw the unfinished garden that he had planned to finish during the break. Mud was all around the garden and holes all around the fence. It seemed as if a gopher had made its way around the premise, trying to make itself at home.

Every morning while drinking coffee, he stood in front of the kitchen in his pajamas looking out the window and thinking about getting to work—perhaps doing some landscaping, changing the atmosphere of the garden his mother once planted. He had a lot in mind, with what he wanted to do with the garden. Evan envisioned a long pathway that separated a Japanese garden on the left hand side with a koi fishpond. He'd planned on building a bridge that would cross over the pond. He wanted to work in a waterfall, loud enough to drown away surrounding noise. On the opposite side of the pathway there would be grass where Nate could play soccer, and someday he would kick the ball around with his own children. There would be simplicity and tranquility once he stepped outside into his backyard, something that he longed for. At the end of the pathway, he pictured a gazebo where he could sit back and relax and let the worries of the day slip away. He imagined Harmony sitting beside him, with his arm wrapped around her. They were supposed to grow old together with the changing world, but the one thing that wouldn't change would be the two of them sitting together and simply enjoying one other's company.

"This is another one of your projects that are yet to be completed, I see."

Evan chuckled.

"Harmony and I were supposed to finish the garden, but things don't always pan out the way you'd hope," he said with a forced smile. Life had a funny way of proving how plans were ultimately a human's way of trying to control life. "I bought a gardening magazine from the nursery downtown. I'll finish it."

Grandma Venice raised an eyebrow, not completely sure if Evan had this gardening project under control, or his life under control for that matter. The unfinished family album said so otherwise.

"I hope so," she said, planting a kiss on Evan's forehead. "Take care of yourself, sweetie," she said before making her way to the front door.

Evan stood in the doorway and watched as Grandma Venice got behind the wheel. Moments later he heard the engine come to life.

She drove an old white Volkswagen, which wasn't in the best shape for an old woman to be driving in. Evan tried to convince Grandma Venice to give up her car and switch to something that would ensure her safety, and that wouldn't break down in the middle of the road. But Grandma Venice insisted on keeping her car. She didn't want a new car. For her, this old Volkswagen was just fine.

Before she pulled out of the driveway, Grandma Venice looked back at Evan and waved goodbye. As she pulled out of the driveway, all she managed to think about was what was going to happen in the next week. As always, she was guilty for keeping this secret to herself for all these years but never found the right time to come out and tell Denise and Evan something that they should've known years ago. She felt burdened with this secret and some nights it was the only thing she could think about. Grandma Venice would go over the scene of how she would tell Denise and Evan the truth, but the fear kept her from coming to terms with what she hid from them. She feared Denise and Evan would hate her for the rest of their lives.

The truth was going to come out soon, but how prepared was Grandma Venice?

And like before, she was stuck right in the middle.

But as always, the universe always managed to throw a curveball at her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Grandma Venice sat in her office with her worn out diary resting on her lap. Some pages were loose and the writing from the beginning of the diary was now faded. Grandma Venice had her diary ever since she made her first prediction. Everything that Grandma Venice predicted was noted and every prediction that occurred was written to the exact detail from memory—the time, date, place, people who were involved.

Grandma Venice's mind was fixated on Evan and Denise. The future was heartbreaking. It made Grandma Venice lose all interest in helping her own patients. She was furious, sad, and angry at what was going to happen. There was nothing that she could do to stop any of it from happening either. Even if she did take action, consequences would soon follow. This gift at times seemed like a curse.

Grandma Venice closed her diary and shut her eyes. She needed to take a mental break before her next patient.

Just as Grandma Venice started to drift off, the unexpected knock on the door startled her.

"Venice, there's someone here to see you," said Candice Bridge, Grandma Venice's secretary. Candice quietly slipped into the room, closing the door behind her.

Candice was a tall brunette, who liked to dress in floral and silhouettes regardless of what the weather was like. She loved wearing bright lipsticks and heavy mascara.

"Who is it?"

"He wouldn't say, but he claims he knows you very well."

"He refused to give you his name?"

"I told him you wouldn't see him unless he had an appointment."

"And?"

"He sent me in here," she said flustered.

Grandma Venice thought about it for a moment. The imaginary light bulb went off in her mind. It wasn't often that she had unexpected visitors. She knew who it was.

"Okay, send him in," she finally said.

Grandma Venice leaned over and pulled open the bottom drawer of the rectangular table next to the chair, where she placed her diary.

Even though she knew who it was, it took her back a bit when Bruce walked into her room. She could see Bruce was aging well. His hair had started to grey. He was a lot thinner than the last time Grandma Venice saw Bruce. Candice closed the door behind him, not having a clue who he was.

"I wasn't expecting to see you so soon."

"Not all your predictions are on point, from what I recall," Bruce said. He made himself comfortable on the sofa across from Grandma Venice, with the coffee table separating them. He unbuttoned his blazer simultaneously, crossing one leg over the other. "So how've you been? What's new around here?"

"Bruce, it's really nice seeing you, but you're here for one of two things. Which one is it?"

"I can't come and see how you're doing once in a while? Do I need a reason to be here?" He chuckled.

Grandma Venice sighed, knowing with Bruce there was always a reason. "What do you want?"

Bruce kept a steady eye contact with Grandma Venice before breaking the tension. "I think it's time."

"Time for what exactly?" She already knew what Bruce was referring to, but it never hurt to confirm.

"It's time that I tell them the truth. They deserve to know what happened, what _really_ happened that day, and I think you would want the same for them."

"I agree. They need to know what happened, but I don't think _you're_ ready. I see you once in a blue moon. You don't even make appointments anymore, which is a risk on your end but you can't do that to them. You can't show up whenever you please then disappear until who knows when. They lost their mother and then their father. I can't have you breaking their hearts again."

"I didn't come here to get your permission."

"I know you didn't come here to get my permission. You're a grown man. You just want someone to tell you _not_ to go forward with it. See, you're still a little skeptical about telling them the truth because then it's out there in the open. You're going to have to wait for them to respond…and what if they don't want you in their life? I bet that thought ran through your mind a hundred of times, didn't it?"

Grandma Venice was boiling with anger inside. What was Bruce thinking? She knew this moment was a long time coming but still, she felt the emotions, which were out of her hands. She was only human for heaven's sake.

"If you really wanted to tell them, you would have told them a long time ago, regardless of what was going on in your life at the time."

"You know exactly why I chose to do what I did!" Bruce shouted.

While Candice was supposed to be busy answering phone calls, making appointments for Venice, instead, she found herself listening to Venice and Bruce's conversation through the wall. Candice had never seen or heard of Bruce the entire time she'd been working for Venice, which was almost three years now. But she knew one thing: there was a long history between the two of them. And who was "them" they kept referring to? She continued to listen as she pretended to appear busy.

"I left because I couldn't handle it," Bruce said, raising his voice. His veins bulged from underneath his skin as he defended himself. "My life was a wreck. Do I have to remind you what happened? I couldn't tell them because I couldn't handle the thought of them rejecting me or looking at me just like the way they looked at me when their mother died. But it's been a long time and I can handle telling them now."

"You have no idea what's going on in their lives right now," she objected.

"If you let me be a part of their lives, maybe I would know something. You're the one who told me to leave, remember? And that's what I did. Look where it got me."

"I never said not to come back! You made that call. I waited for you to show up. I waited for a phone call, but you never called." Grandma Venice held back the tears that had crept up on her. "I did what I had to do. So _don't_ pin this on me. I wasn't the one who walked out on their family. You had every breathing second to come back home but you didn't. It wasn't easy on me either, Bruce."

"You think _I_ had it easy? For the past twenty-seven years, I wasn't living the life. I wasn't taking it easy if that's what you think happened. You knew Geneva was having an affair and you kept that from me. Do you have any idea how I felt when I found out you _knew_ about the affair the entire time? It made me question my entire childhood. It made me wonder what else you hid from me."

"I didn't have a choice," Grandma Venice said in a stern voice.

"I was the reason why Geneva was unhappy. _I'm_ the reason why she killed herself. I couldn't look at Denise and Evan because I was the reason why they lost their mother." His lips quivered. Bruce took a long deep breath and composed himself before continuing. "Evan and Denise need to know their mother wasn't killed in a car accident. They deserve to know what really happened. I can't have them questioning their childhood like I did. They need to know the truth, Mom and I'm going to be the one to tell them."

Grandma Venice sat in her chair, going back and forth in her mind about what the right thing was to do. She knew Evan and Denise deserved to know the truth about what really happened that day. They needed to know why she told them the horrible lie about their father having a heart attack while driving, leading to a fatal car crash that took his life and their mother dying in a car accident. All the lies she told Evan and Denise were catching up to her now. She knew one day the lies would haunt her. However, her predictions were off. Grandma Venice predicated she would be dead by the time Bruce came around to telling Evan and Denise the truth. The ambiguity in her predictions made her question herself.

"Are you working right now?" she asked, switching the subject.

Bruce looked a little confused. "What's that got to do with anything we're talking about?"

"I'm asking you a simple question. Either answer it or see yourself out."

Bruce stared at her for a second before responding. "I'm a contract worker. People hire me to fix things for them."

Judging by Bruce's fancy sleek grey suit, Grandma Venice sensed Bruce wasn't telling her the entire truth.

She pursed her lips. "How long have you been a contract worker?"

"Ever since I left. Why does this matter?"

Grandma Venice looked down at her watch and realized she was short on time.

"Bruce, we're going to have to discuss this another time. I'm expecting a patient in just a little bit and I don't like to keep any of my patients waiting."

"What's there to discuss?" Bruce said. He rose from the couch, and fixed his cufflinks. "I said what I needed to say. I wasn't asking you for your blessing."

Grandma Venice remained seated in her chair. She wasn't at all pleased with Bruce or his attitude toward his take on the way he was going to handle this delicate situation. Ever since Bruce learned the truth about Geneva, there had been friction between the two of them. Although Grandma Venice knew Bruce resented her for it, which she accepted, she didn't want the same exact outcome for Denise and Evan. Bruce was too stubborn to understand that timing did in fact play a huge role in coming clean.

When the time was right, Bruce wasn't ready. Now that Bruce was ready, Denise and Evan were not prepared for this right now given with everything that was going on in their lives.

"Like I said, Evan and Denise have the right to know what happened, but not right now," she said, slipping back on her glasses.

"Who are you protecting anyway?" Bruce asked, raising his voice once again. "I don't think it's about Evan and Denise anymore. You're just trying to protect yourself."

"I've been protecting this whole family from the moment you were born," Grandma Venice said calmly. She looked deep into Bruce's eyes and saw the little boy he once was, following her around the house as soon as she got home from work. She remembered the tears Bruce had in his eyes when he held Denise for the first time. Now, Grandma Venice didn't recognize who was standing before her. "Close the door on your way out."

Bruce stood still for a good moment before walking out of the room.

Grandma Venice removed her glasses and began to weep. She felt the world turning against her. The thought of losing Evan and Denise made her heart ache. Every choice she made, was to protect her family and some of the choices she made in the past were coming to haunt her now. She knew if she had told Bruce that Geneva was having an affair, in time Bruce would've killed himself. On some level, she knew she was being selfish for keeping the secret from him, but it came down to losing either Geneva or Bruce. Not all of Grandma Venice's predictions were correct, but she didn't want to risk losing her only son. So, Grandma Venice did what any mother would've done in her position given the circumstances.

Grandma Venice grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and wiped the tears away at the sound of the knock on the door.

"Come in," she said, taking a deep breath and wiping her nose.

Candice peered in, not expecting to see Grandma Venice in a fragile state.

"Hey," Candice said with concern. "Is everything okay?" She hadn't heard the entire conversation. A missing sentence here and there threw her off entirely but something told her the meeting between the two of them did not end on a good note.

She met her eyes. "Yeah…everything's fine," Grandma Venice said, clenching the tissue in her hand.

"Okay," Candice replied with a smile. "Mrs. Kingston called and rescheduled for next week Tuesday."

Grandma Venice nodded. "Thank you for letting me know."

Candice smiled as she closed the door.

Grandma Venice opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the journal and began to write.

Evan stood in front of the house patiently on Kentwood Drive in Dusk View, a city half an hour away from Lake View passing through the central business district and MidView. He held a chocolate cake topped off with chocolate-covered strawberries bought from Bernie's, his favorite bakery. He peered into the window looking for Denise. He could see her pacing back and forth in the kitchen. She was wearing a pink apron that hung off her neck. Denise never really bothered tying her apron around her waist. "I'm going to take it off anyway," Evan remembered Denise saying on multiple occasions.

Evan pushed the doorbell button once again, hoping someone would come to his rescue. It was quite freezing. Dusk View was closer to the ocean than Lake View. The temperatures dropped lower and a lot faster than they did in Lake View but like Lake View, it never snowed here. The homes were bigger and newer with very limited space in the front and backyard compared to the homes in Lake View. When he caught a glimpse of Denise as she turned away from the oven, he motioned her to come open the door for him.

Denise hurried over to the door. Her apron swung behind her from side to side like Batman coming to his rescue. The dramatic effect of gravity came to a halt as she stood still, unlocking the door.

"Oh, thank god you brought dessert," Denise said, noticing the brown box, with 'Bernie's' stamped across in Evan's hands.

Denise Storm-Smith held the door as Evan entered the house. It was nice and warm.

"I was going to bring ice cream but then I remembered how much Nate hates ice cream in the winter," Evan said, walking into the kitchen with Denise only a few feet behind him. "He's a weird kid. I loved ice cream in the winter when I was younger. You remember that? Getting brain freezes and then Grandma giving us that look that said it all."

"Tell me about it. I could hear her _I told you so_ 's in my head when she gave us that look. I think it rubbed off on me. I do that with Nate sometimes," she chuckled.

"Sometimes? You've given me that look more than Grandma ever has."

Denise rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Stop exaggerating."

"You know I'm right."

Evan set the cake in the refrigerator and looked around the kitchen island. Denise had cooked up a storm today.

"Were you on some crazy diet this past week?" Evan asked, eyeing everything placed out in front of him.

There was cheese lasagna in the oven, garlic bread, Caesar salad, green beans, and the last dish he assumed was a bowl of potato salad. Denise never cooked like this; only during the holidays and special occasions.

She looked over her shoulder as she opened the oven door to check on the lasagna. "What?"

"Holy, that smells good," Evan said. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air as the aroma filled the kitchen. "Why did you make so much food?"

Denise sighed. "I wasn't sure if salad and lasagna was going to be enough and plus, leftovers are always good. You want some wine?" She turned to the wine cooler and pulled out a bottle.

"Sure, why not. Where's Nate, by the way? He's usually in the kitchen trying to help."

Denise frowned as she set the wine glasses on the counter and began to pour. "He's out on the porch. When he woke up in the morning to feed Firefins…"

Her frown finished the end of her sentence.

"Oh, that's horrible. Ryan bought that fish for him, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Denise said, pushing the cork back in the wine bottle. She handed Evan his wine glass and took a seat beside him.

"He came downstairs in the morning with tears in his eyes. His eyes were puffy, like super puffy…it was really heartbreaking. I remember him asking Ryan over and over again if he could get a pet. After all the begging, Nate finally got his fish." Denise's eyes traveled to the screen door where she could see Nate sitting on the porch, with his arms folded on his knees and head lowered. What really pained Denise was Ryan wasn't there to console Nate. Lost in thought, she began to daydream. Her mind jumped from one scenario to another, each worse than the last.

Evan's multiple elbow nudges didn't help Denise out of her trance until he yelled, "Denise".

"Huh?" Her pupils, dilated, slowly went back to normal when she met Evan's eyes. She gradually took another sip as she came back to reality.

"You okay?"

"Uh yeah. I was just thinking about Ryan's accident. Sometimes, I just feel like I can't even breathe. It's been a nightmare ever since..."

Ryan's car accident had taken place in October, which led him into a coma for a month and a half. It had been a month since Ryan awoke, remembering everything but not recalling Denise ever being pregnant with Nate.

"I know," Evan said, putting down his wine glass, "is he showing any improvements though?"

"No" Denise said, turning to Evan, "I mean, he's walking and talking. He's getting his physical therapy and the doctor said that he'll be discharged from the hospital in the next few days. That's really good news, but—"

"You haven't told Nate huh?"

"No, I haven't. I don't know how," she shrugged, not wanting to go into detail about how Ryan was handling it, which certainly didn't help Denise.

Evan and Denise sat in silence. When the kitchen timer went off, Denise quickly scooted off her chair. She grabbed the oven mitt off the counter, as she made her way to the oven and pulled out the sizzling hot lasagna.

"Holy, that smells so damn good," Evan said again, eyeing the tray as Denise brought it over to the counter.

The cheese bubbled relentlessly while the oil rested on top.

"I just hope it tastes good as it looks," Denise mumbled, as she examined all sides of the lasagna dish. The confidence started to kick in once Denise cut into the lasagna, seeing that the lasagna had been cooked thoroughly. "Can you go and get Nate?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Evan said, rising from his seat. He gradually walked over to the screen door, peering through quietly before stepping out onto the porch. Evan joined Nate Smith on the steps, who was layered with a grey coat and a red scarf around his neck. Evan looked at Nate, who didn't bother to turn around.

"Hey, buddy," Evan finally said. He waited for a response from Nate, but got nothing. Evan playfully nudged Nate, hoping to get his attention.

Slowly, Nate lifted his head up from his knees, craning his head sideways, meeting Evan's eyes. "Hi, Uncle Evan," he said in a somber voice.

Evan could see the sadness through his big brown eyes.

"How's it going?" Evan asked, trying to make the conversation upbeat.

"Firefins died today."

Evan never had the experience of talking to a child about death. What was the right thing to say to a child who experienced death? Nate was only seven years old. Evan was pretty sure the topic itself was too much for a seven year old to comprehend

"I'm sorry buddy." Evan paused for a moment trying to think of something comforting to say that would put Nate in a better mood. "You can always get another fish…"

"I can't replace Firefins," Nate sighed. "It won't be the same."

Evan was surprised by the response Nate gave. He had no idea how well Nate comprehended death. Nate was much wiser at his age than Evan was when he was seven years old.

"That's very true," Evan agreed. "Hey, you lost your toof," he added, noticing the gap between his front teeth.

Nate ran his finger across the gap. "Yeah," he giggled.

"What's so funny?"

Nate's teeth gleamed as he roared with laughter remembering the funny incident.

"Last week when my tooth was really loose, I pulled it out right in front of my mom. She made a disgusting face, Uncle Evan. It was so funny! And she almost threw up." Nate held his stomach as he laughed.

Evan remembered the pranks Ryan pulled in the early years of their marriage before Nate was born. In a lot of ways, Nate definitely took after his father.

"Are you hungry? Dinner's ready."

"Yeah, I kinda am," Nate said, getting up from the porch.

Evan stood tall beside Nate. He followed Nate back into the house, where Denise had already set the dinner table. She smiled at Evan, feeling a bit relieved after she witnessed the change in Nate's mood.

They sat around the kitchen table, passing the garlic bread, taking one piece each; each dish going around the table once.

"So what have you been up to lately?" Denise asked Evan.

Her eyes flicked over to her right. Nate had just put in a steaming hot piece of lasagna into his mouth. Within a split second, Nate spit it out onto his plate, waving his hand back and forth in front of his face and panting. He scrunched his face while his tongue stuck out like a puppy on a hot summer day.

"Oh sweetie. Here," she said, picking up his glass and handing it to him. "Drink some soda. It'll help cool off the burn. You gotta be careful, hun."

She watched Nate as he took a couple of sips before putting his glass down on the table. On another note, she realized how long Nate's hair had grown in the last couple of weeks, brown and curled at the ends. Just like Ryan's.

Denise turned to Evan and asked, "Are you almost finished with the garden?"

Evan grinned in embarrassment. "No, not really," he said, locking eyes with Denise, knowing what she'd say next.

She shook her head in disappointment. "You're so consumed in this belief that these episodes you're having mean something," she said, biting into some lasagna before continuing. "You're letting your life pass you by. I mean, what if you figure out—which shouldn't take long—that these dreams or memories, whatever they are, really don't mean anything? You're going to look back and regret not taking that time and doing something that mattered. Something more productive, like, I don't know… _dating._ "

"You're really not going to let this go, are you? And I'm not ready to date just yet, either."

Denise put her fork down. "No, I'm not. I understand you want to know why you're having these episodes, but I just think that they're taking control of your life," she expressed.

"They have, Denise," Evan said, wishing Denise wasn't right. "You don't know what it's like to wake up feeling like you're living a double life. It feels like my past is controlling me. There are times when I dread going to sleep. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, and drenched in sweat. My life is a nightmare, Denise. I want it to end and the only way that's gonna happen is to figure out why I'm remembering these parts of my life."

Denise looked at her brother with concern. She was starting to realize it was more serious than she thought.

"Okay," she said, picking up her fork again. "Just don't lose focus on the things that matter in your life now. Like your career and family."

"Don't worry, I've got it handled."

She gave him that look—the one arched eyebrow, pursed lips, and a glare.

"I know what I'm doing," Evan reassured her.

"Okay," she said, quietly collecting some green beans with her fork. "So, there's this new girl who moved from Pool View. She works at the company now. I was thinking what a cute couple you two would make."

"No, Denise. You're not going to set me up. You do a horrible, _horrible_ job setting people up."

Denise gasped in shock. "What are you talking about?"

Evan looked over at Nate, who was quite enjoying the conversation between his mother and Evan. "Your mother," he began, "she thinks she's cupid."

Nate giggled at Evan's comment. "Cupids aren't real."

"Exactly," Evan responded. He turned to Denise. "Nate knows what he's talking about."

Denise stabbed some bits of lettuce and a crouton with her fork and said, "But love exists and you need to go out there and find it, then get married, and if you're not going to look," she said as her voice started to rise, "then let me help you." She looked at Evan as she chewed, eyes widened in curiosity.

"I don't disagree that love exists, but I don't think I'm ready to give it my all. I did that with Harmony and look where it got me. One amazing year down the drain."

"You're being so cynical. Just because it didn't work out with one person doesn't mean the next one is going to be the same," she said, raising her eyebrow as she continued to chew. "You always had a problem opening up with women—"

"Wait, wait, wait," he said holding up his hand in defense, "that's not true."

Denise exclaimed, "That's _totally_ true! After you go through a break-up, it's like you never want to date again. You're so scared of getting hurt again that you just push the idea of being in love and being happy aside all for a fifty percent chance of getting your heart broken."

Evan scoffed, not wanting to admit Denise was partially true. "I don't want to bring someone in my life if I'm not ready, and I certainly don't want _you_ setting me up with anyone. I'll find someone."

"How?" Denise asked, expecting an on-the-spot answer. "You're an introvert. You rarely ever go out." She turned to Nate and noticed three-fourths of his plate empty. "Here you go, baby," she said sweetly. She leaned over and picked up a piece of lasagna with a spatula and slowly slid it onto Nate's plate.

Nate's eyebrows furrowed and whined, "But I'm not hungry."

"C'mon, you didn't have a good breakfast today. That's a very small piece, sweetie. You need to bulk up. Don't you want to be big and strong when you get older?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

Nate looked down at his plate, not too happy. "Okay," he said in a glum voice.

"Denise, he's only seven. What's he bulking up for?"

Denise turned to Evan, disregarding his comment. "Oh, don't swerve your way around this. Where are you going to find someone, huh?"

Evan shrugged. "A dating website? The library?" He saw the horrified expression on Denise's face and quickly said, "Those are _some_ of the ways of meeting people. Plus, why are you so worried about me finding someone?"

Her eyes flicked to the garden. She used her knife and fork to cut a piece of the lasagna. "I don't want you to be alone," she said with a sigh. "Take Mr. Brar, for example. He and his wife loved each other more than anyone I know and after Mrs. Brar passed away, he said something to me that I'll never forget."

"What did he say?"

"He said a life partner makes life a hundred times better. I want the same for you. I mean everyone deserves someone, especially you."

Denise knew the kind of guy her brother was. He was a gentleman with a soft kind heart. He was the type of guy who would open the car door, cook dinner, buy cute little presents and ultimately make the woman feel like a princess. Denise knew her brother would make a great husband and father one day and she knew deep down, that's what Evan wanted too.

Evan smiled and reached over, softly squeezing her hand. "Stop worrying. It'll happen when it's supposed to." He sighed knowing Denise's concern was coming from a good hearted place. "I envied Mr. and Mrs. Brar's relationship, though. They were the neighborhood lovebirds."

"It's hard to be a cynic when you see a couple like that."

Later that evening, Denise drove down to the Lake View Hospital where Ryan was admitted while Evan stayed home with Nate. The big plans Evan had for the two of them was to sit in front of the television, watch movies, and eat some of the delicious cake he'd bought from Bernie's Bakery.

As Denise pulled into the parking lot, it started to feel a lot like home. Sometimes Denise would come and visit Ryan during lunch and after work before she picked up Nate from the recreation program she'd enrolled him in. Or she wouldn't go at all. She got out of the car and felt the cold winter breeze brush against her face. Denise walked through the parking lot in her long beige coat, looking at the surrounding cars. There were families who were sitting in the hospital waiting room hoping for good news, or sitting by the bedside of their loved ones, hoping to take them home. For the longest time Denise felt alone in her situation. But as her visits became more frequent, she realized she wasn't the only one going through a rough time. There were other people who were walking in the same shoes as her. She shivered, feeling the warmth take over as she entered through the automatic doors. The lights were bright and sharp causing Denise to squint before adjusting to the brightness.

As she waited for the elevator, Denise heard a woman sobbing. She looked down the hall and saw a middle-aged woman standing outside of one of the rooms, wiping away the tears. Denise's heart sank. The woman looked helpless as she stood there, trying to pull herself together.

 _Death._

Denise was constantly reminded of death when she went to see Ryan. She didn't see this building as a place where people came to be cured. To Denise, this was a place where people came to die. Lives ended here. Her perception of hospitals was molded by the tragic accidents her mother and father had been in when she was just a child. And now, it was Ryan.

Denise stepped onto the elevator, feeling oddly nervous. Once she reached Ryan's floor, she stepped off and walked down the hallway, to Ryan's room, where he sat in his bed, watching TV. She stood in the doorway, a little hesitant. The day of the accident came rushing back in bits and pieces. The arguments they had leading up to the accident were all too vivid. Everything flashed before her eyes, putting her back two months ago when she didn't think Ryan was going to make it out alive. She shook the thoughts away and took a deep breath before she moseyed in. The sound of her heels caught Ryan's attention.

"Hey," he said, pointing the remote control in the TV's direction and pressing the green button. The screen went blank.

Ryan's deep set hazel eyes gazed over at Denise. For the past few days, Ryan started growing a scruff. He ran his hand through his hair and sat up straighter.

"Hey," Denise replied, pulling the chair in the corner closer to his bedside. "How are you doing?"

They looked at each other knowing very well how Ryan was doing.

"I'm good. How about you?"

"I'm…"—she thought for a moment, not knowing how to answer the question—"doing good," she finally replied. "I brought some more pictures for you."

Denise unzipped her purse and pulled out a brown envelope containing a couple of dozen photos of them in various locations and events. "These are the ones from when Nate was just born," she said as she handed Ryan the envelope.

Although a little irritated, Ryan remained calm and pulled open the flap, pulling out the pictures Denise had gathered. He flipped through them, analyzing each one carefully, moving onto the next with the hope it would trigger a memory that would help him recall his son. And just like the day before and the day before that, nothing. He shook his head as he put the pictures back into the envelope, handing it back to Denise.

She looked at Ryan with disappointment. Not that it was his fault, but because just like every day, she'd hoped today was the day Ryan remembered just a tiny piece of his life that he'd forgotten after the accident.

Denise put the envelope back into her purse, and set it aside. "It's okay, babe," she said, reaching for his hand. She held on tight. "We can try again tomorrow. The doctor said it was going to take time. We just have to be patient."

"Yeah…."

Denise gave his hand a squeeze. "What's wrong? C'mon, talk to me."

He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking about Nate. With the help of photos, Ryan knew what Nate looked like, but he had no recollection of Nate in his life.

"How the hell am I supposed to do this…?" he said, his words trailing off.

"You're not in this alone."

He turned to Denise, meeting her eyes. "I _am_ alone in this. I don't remember anything about my own son. _My own son, Denise._ How am I supposed to act around him? How do I treat him? What kind of relationship do we have? I don't feel like a father, so how am I supposed to _act_ like a father to a child that I don't even know?"

Denise's head sank. "I don't know the answers to those questions, babe, but we're going to get through this. We'll get all the help we need. We'll do whatever it takes to get your memory back. I promise."

He sighed. "It feels like empty hope. What if I don't regain my memory? Then what?"

Denise gripped tighter to Ryan's hand with her own. She looked at him, sadness filling her eyes because she too feared life would never go back to normal. "The doctor said we should keep a positive attitude. We _are_ going to get through this." They had to.

She kissed the top of his hand, staring off into the distance, reminiscing the night of the accident. Denise remembered that night with Ryan vividly as if it happened yesterday. It was an odd windy and rainy October Saturday night. Nate was upstairs in his room while she and Ryan were downstairs, cleaning up in the kitchen.

"Do you want to watch some TV with me, like when we used to…maybe open a bottle of wine?" he had asked, putting the last dish in the dishwasher.

"No. I've got some work I need to finish that I didn't get around to back at the office."

Denise wanted to be alone that night. She knew Ryan would want to talk about having another baby because that was something Ryan had been bringing up lately. Denise was not in the mood to have that conversation with Ryan tonight.

"You can do that later. We can watch Late Night with Jimmy Fallon," he convinced, "You need to take some time out to relax." He was leaning against the kitchen counter hoping for a "yes."

Denise started to walk away, and that's when everything spiraled out of control.

"So that's it? This is what it's come to?"

"Ryan, I really don't have the time for this right now," she said, looking over her shoulder. "I've got a big project I need to finish."

"You never have time for anything these days. What's _really_ going on, Denise?"

Denise turned around with rage in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about having a baby. I'm sick and tired of having that conversation!"

He looked at her funny. Without any hesitation or regards to her feelings, he asked, "Are you sleeping with someone else?"

Her jaws clenched. "What?"

"Are you having an affair?"

"You're insane!"

"You've been ignoring me. You don't make time to hang out. Every time I suggest we go do something, all you ever say is that you don't have time. What the hell am I supposed to think? Yeah, _of course_ I'm going to think you're screwing someone else!" His heart was no longer beating steadily. "Do you even love me anymore?" he asked.

Denise could see the hurt and anger in his eyes but it had already gone too far before she could cool off and have a civil conversation. "Just shut the hell up! Shut the hell up!"

"Why? Is it because I'm right? Is that why?"

"Listen to yourself, Ryan. Do you even hear what's coming out of your mouth right now?" Denise was still yelling at the top of her lungs. Her face, bright red, was filled with fury and her eyes stone cold. "You're fucking insane. I don't want to be anywhere near you."

"Oh that's soo wonderful of you, cursing," Ryan said with his temper now flaring. "You think being an anesthesiologist, working twelve, sixteen hour shifts is easy? But as husband and wife, we're supposed to make time for each other. And I've been trying for weeks just to get you to myself. You don't even give a crap about me anymore." Ryan looked at Denise in disgust and hurt.

They stood in the kitchen, giving one another cold-hearted stares.

He wanted Denise to answer. But the longer he waited, he knew it was pointless.

"I'm so tired of being treated this way," Ryan said coldly.

Denise felt her throat closing. This was the first time in their marriage they'd argued like this. The stress Denise was carrying had taken a toll on the both of them and it was too late until she realized it.

Ryan walked past her, looking at Denise dead in the eyes as he stomped through the front door. She felt paralyzed yet she could feel her body shaking. She wanted to move, but couldn't. It felt as if her feet were glued to the ground. She stood there, trying to keep calm and together, but as her emotions amplified, the harder it became to control the tears and the cry she held in.

She slowly took steps toward the table. She pulled up a chair and sulked. She cried and whimpered. She placed her hand over her stomach where she had carried Ryan's baby for ten weeks. She knew how much Ryan wanted to have another baby and all she wanted was to surprise him. She wanted to break the news in the most romantic way she could think of.

They were supposed to have a candle-lit dinner and she was going to make his favorite meal. It was going to be the perfect. Time, however, was not in her favor.

After a forty-five minute drive, being stuck in slight traffic due to an accident, Evan finally pulled into Knight's Drive. By the looks of it, everyone was asleep and the only lights that were still on were the streetlights. As Evan pulled up into the driveway, he spotted Mr. Brar, his next-door neighbor, sitting in his wooden rocking chair out on the porch. He put the car in park, turned off the ignition and opened the door. He walked toward Mr. Brar's house, which was approximately fifty feet away from his home.

The homes in Lake View were much more spaced out compared to the other neighboring cities. Lake View itself was a much older town. Most of the homes had been fully remolded, inside and out. Some of the homeowners had installed pools in their backyards, perfect for the summer. The downside of living in Lake View was that it had become an expensive town. There were very few young couples who'd moved into Lake View in the past five years. Most of the families that lived here had bought the homes years ago when the market had been down.

"Hey Mr. Brar," Evan said, walking up the porch, "you're up pretty late."

Mr. Brar was a Sikh who wore a black turban as a symbol of his faith. He never ate meat or drank alcohol. His beard was short and silver. And every time he smiled or laughed, crow's feet appeared. He dragged his oxygen tank closer to his chair, making room for Evan to sit.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied in his raspy voice. "You're coming home so late. You had a date tonight? Or was there a new club opening in downtown? I don't know what you kids do these days to be honest."

"No, I wasn't on a date or at a club" Evan said, chuckling. "It was Denise's turn to host brunch. I was there most of the day. Then she went to the hospital afterwards to visit Ryan. I was on babysitting duty," he said, with a partial smile.

"How is my little girl doing? How's Ryan?"

Evan hesitated. "She's doing the best she can. She's a strong woman. Ryan's getting better over the days, but he still doesn't remember Nate." He sighed. "You can only hope for the best at this point."

"I can't imagine. Are the doctors doing everything they can to help him?"

"Yeah, they are."

"And how's the little one doing?"

"He misses his dad," he said, gazing out into the brightly lit street. "Denise still hasn't told him that Ryan lost some of his memory."

"When is she planning on telling him?"

He shrugged, not knowing exactly what Denise's plans were. "She's hoping that Ryan starts to remember so she _won't_ have to explain all that other stuff to Nate. It reminds me of when we lost our parents," he said gathering his thoughts, "I don't think she wants Nate to go through what we went through, I guess, in a way."

Memories flashed in Evan's mind of his parents. He remembered bits and pieces. His always father wore a suit to work. The first thing Evan would do when his dad came home from work was run into his arms. A huge smile would appear across his father's face, but the smile on Evan's face was priceless. He remembered his mother working around the house, singing to herself every now and then.

"Our loved ones will always be missed. Everything they leave behind is associated with some kind of memory. I can't even look at a book without remembering Ekam. She knew how much I loved it when she read out loud and sometimes I'd fall asleep," he said, quietly laughing to himself. "Some books I just didn't find interesting," he said, quickly defending himself. He then laughed under his breath.

Evan witnessed on many occasions Mr. Brar and his wife enjoying lunch on the porch, laughing as if they were on their first date. She would wipe his mouth with her napkin and plant a kiss on his cheek. Sometimes they would sit together, silently, just enjoying each other's company. Evan witnessed true love. It had been almost two years since Mrs. Brar had passed away.

"I miss Ekam so much," he said, looking up at the stars, "but they're always here with us in spirit," he added, breaking into a smile.

The moon's glow shined across Mr. Brar's olive skin tone, making the sadness visible in his eyes.

"It gets easier, Mr. Brar," Evan offered.

"Sometimes I think she's gone on vacation. I wait for her every day knowing she's not going to come back but yet I hope." He paused for a moment, wiping away a tear. "A little part of me doesn't believe Ekam's really gone, but she really is gone."

Evan reached for Mr. Brar's hand and held it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It was all he could say.

They both knew there was nothing anyone could say or do that would heal a broken heart. It had to happen on its own pace.

Evan and Mr. Brar sat on the front porch, comforting one another in their own ways—just sitting next to one another—while staring off into the night.

As midnight approached, Evan looked over at Mr. Brar, who was still wide awake.

"Mr. Brar," Evan said, yawning, "I'm gonna head home."

Evan rose from the porch, brushing his backside off of dust.

"Alright son, rest well."

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Evan asked, stepping down.

"In a bit," Mr. Brar said with a smile. "Did you know a moving van came today?"

"Oh yeah?" Evan's eyes took off into his neighbor's house.

"I saw them hauling in more furniture, but I didn't get the chance to see who the new movers where," Mr. Brar said, a little disappointed.

He yawned. "I should go say hi sometime," he said, walking off the porch. Evan waved goodbye, leaving Mr. Brar on the porch.

As Evan quietly walked into his home, Mr. Brar looked out into the corner of the street where the street lamp slowly died down. A black sedan had been parked there earlier in the afternoon. Mr. Brar kept a close eye on the vehicle all afternoon. Until now, there hadn't been any movement all day. The headlights switched on and the vehicle slowly drove down Knight's Drive. Mr. Brar watched as the sedan passed by his house, realizing what was going on.

After the sedan was away in the distant, Mr. Brar wheeled his way back into the kitchen, where the phone lay on the table. He picked it up and pressed the speed dial.

Mr. Brar held the phone close to his ear as it rung, feeling intense and anxious. After six rings, he heard breathing on the other end.

"It's only me, Bhuhadar."

"Hi, Mr. Brar," Bruce replied on the other end of the line.

Mr. Brar faced the window from the living room, just in case the black sedan decided to make another trip. "It's been a while since the last time we talked huh. How've you been, Bruce?"

"There have been better days." There was a brink of silence for a moment. "I'm sensing there is something urgent…"

"I think someone from the agency has Evan under their radar."

"Are you sure?"

"A young girl, probably around the same age as Evan, moved in next door to him about a month ago. Around the same time, I noticed the black sedan here and there. I've been keeping an eye out, making sure nothing's out of the ordinary. But I have a feeling his neighbor isn't the only one that's on their radar."

"I can't start a personal assignment unless you're a hundred percent sure. It's going to raise questions, Mr. Brar. Evan can't be on _anyone's_ assignment."

"I know, I know, but I don't have a good feeling about this, Bruce. The timing of it all…I know he's on their radar. I can just feel it."

There was a long sigh from the other end of the line.

"I've looked out for Evan like my own son," Mr. Brar said. "Once the agents from the Secret Eye Agency get involved, you know there's nothing much I can do to help him."

"Yeah, I know." He paused for a moment, knowing that interfering with another agent's assignment was never allowed before getting an approval. "Look, I'm going to search up the ongoing assignments in the system and if I come across Evan's name, then we'll know for sure."

Bruce entered his access key and pin enabling him to log into the system to access all the missions and assignments the agents were currently working on.

"I'll wait on the line as you do that."

Bruce entered Evan's name into the database to find any assignment associated with his name. Only one popped up. Bruce eyes' scanned over to the right, looking at the location and to Bruce's dismay, Knight's Drive was listed as the address.

"You're right," he said feeling faint. "Evan's on their radar but I don't know why." He looked under Evan's name to find what stage the assignment was on. "He's under stage one right now." Bruce slammed his fist on his desk.

Mr. Brar sat in his wheelchair. His heart sank. Flashbacks of his time at the agency brutally reminded Mr. Brar of what agents were capable of.

"This is only stage one, so they're just checking him out right now. But you have to put an end to this, Bruce. The longer this assignment stays open, there's a higher chance of it moving up to stage two."

There was a long pause on Bruce's end as he sat there, in front of his computer. His eyes were fixated on the purple dot next to Evan's name.

"I gotta see what the hell is going on. Just look out for Evan for me, Mr. Brar. I'll keep you updated." Bruce hung up, putting his cell phone back into his pocket.

This wasn't good. _Not at all._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Bruce sat at his desk, looking out of his office.

The Secret Eye Agency ran a twenty-four-hour, seven days a week operation. People came in and out for a hundred different reasons. One was to retrieve the special gadgets the Secret Eye Agency made available to the agents. Every gadget had special and multiple functions. The watches recorded conversations that took place within in a hundred-foot radius. The navigation system in the black sedans converted into surveillance cameras. The pens recorded conversations only in confined areas. The pitch black glasses agents wore in the day had the capability to take pictures and be the eyes for agents who were positioned for backup. For every scenario, there was a gadget.

Any work done out in the field was all sent back to the headquarters. Since every gadget was connected to the server, all the information was automatically downloaded. The agency was the only place where an agent could go to retrieve the information. There was no way to get rid of evidence, as long it was on the server.

Before Bruce could take any action, he had to figure out who ordered the investigation and why. Once he understood those two crucial pieces of information, he would have to file to nullify the assignment. Given that the grounds to nullify would pass with the board of directors, it would take a couple of weeks. That was one of the options Bruce had. The other option was to go off the record and sort it out on his own without involving a third party. But that had consequences.

Either way, the clock was ticking and Evan's life was on the line.


End file.
